


In the Hub of All Places

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Episode: s01e07 The Hub, Gen, Hilarity Ensues, Missing Scene, meets Scottish accent, voice recognition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Leopold Fitz can face down alien viruses and Russian mafia, but he can't work his way around voice recognition software.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Hub of All Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inevitablyfitzsimmons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitablyfitzsimmons/gifts).



> inspired by [this brilliant piece of comedy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FFRoYhTJQQ)

Fitz stood with his hands on his hips and a proud look on his face. Nodding to himself, he ran through a mental checklist of the tech he'd loaded onto his cart, and then turned back to Agent Chalal.

"I think I _will_ take that localized EMP," he decided, gauging the space he had left to pile things.

"Have a lot of call for ElectroMagnetic Pulses in the field, do you?" Chalal asked, one eyebrow raised.

Fitz thought back to Simmons' experiences with the alien retrovirus and shuddered, nodding slowly. "You'd be surprised what we run into out there," he said. "It's best to be prepared for all eventualities."

"Fair enough," Chalal shrugged, carefully adding the EMP to the cart and giving it a soft pat. "Treat her right, will you?" she asked. "She's my own design."

Fitz smiled in understanding. "You have my word," he said, holding up a hand in promise.

"You guys going to be around long enough to come out for a drink tonight?" Chalal asked, looking at him from below her lashes. "This is the first time we've seen you in..." she paused and cleared her throat. "Well, in a long time," she finished a bit awkwardly.

"I'm not sure," Fitz said, distractedly shifting things around until they settled just so. Nodding to himself, he pressed the button for the elevator. "I'll text you?" he asked with a grin.

Chalal nodded back with a tight smile of her own. "You've got my number," she confirmed. As the elevator doors closed on his wave, she mumbled to herself, "Not that you ever use it."

As the doors closed behind him, Fitz looked round for the button panel and then remembered it wasn't there. When he and Simmons had come down to the Tech Corridor, she'd spoken their destination with her crisp English enunciation and the elevator had descended accordingly. Now, however, he was on his own.

"Lobby," he said, cheerfully. He bounced gently on his toes as he glanced fondly at his tech again.

"Could you please repeat that?" said the electronic voice of the lift.

"Wha-?" Fitz asked, nonplussed. "Lobby," he said again, a bit louder this time.

The lift stayed stubbornly in place and unmoving.

"Lo-bby," he tried, enunciating the word as carefully as he could.

"Could you please repeat that?" the lift asked again, its computer-generated voice sounding strangely bored.

Fitz looked around the lift, hoping that there might be a recessed panel that he could access to manually control things. No such luck.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, he tried again. "Lllllobbyyyyy," he attempted, raising his voice a bit louder still.

"Could you please repeat that?" The disembodied woman was really getting on his nerves now.

"I _have_ repeated it!" he said irritably.

"I'm sorry," the lift apologized in that same disinterested voice. "Could you please repeat that?"

"Who _designed_ this?" he asked under his breath. Clearing his throat, he made an attempt at the soft lilt of Simmons' accent. "Lobby."

Still, the lift refused to budge.

"Lobby."

Nothing.

" _Lobby._ "

...

" _ **Lobby.**_ "

"I'm sorry. Could you please repeat that?"

"You're not sorry at all!" Fitz shouted, shaking a fist at the elevator's ceiling. "You stupid piece of utter bollix that doesn't understand perfect bloody English!"

"Please speak slowly and clearly," the voice he was growing to hate with every fibre of his being ordered him.

"I _am_ speaking slowly and clearly, you cow!" Fitz shouted, his voice cracking on the last word. " **Lobby!** "

"This is a voice activated elevator," the voice stated, as if he were some sort of moron who didn't already know that. "Please state which floor you would like to go to."

"I _have_ , you great big piece of mechanical shite!" Fitz yelled, his face a portrait of dismay. "Just open the damn doors and I'll take the stairs!"

"Please remain calm," it replied, sounding somehow smug.

"Calm?" Fitz asked, growing less calm by the second. " _Calm_?" he asked in disbelief. "I _am_ calm! _You're_ the one not doing their bloody job right!"

"You have not selected a floor," the lift informed him in the kind of ignorant tone he usually associated with people who assured him they'd tried everything to get their computer to work but who hadn't actually turned the ruddy thing on.

Turning to the cart, he carefully removed the EMP from the top and climbed up on it, the better to get near the speaker at the top of the lift. "Aye, I have!" he said angrily, jabbing an accusing finger at the speaker. " _Lobby!_ "

The voice of the most pompous person he could imagine continued plaguing him. "If you would like to get out of the elevator without selecting a floor, simply say, 'Open the doors, please'."

"Please?" he said, eyes widening and mouth dropping open in haughty disbelief. " _Please?_ " He stood up straighter on the cart, tugging his shirt and cardigan into place and fixing his tie. "You can _take_ your _please_ and shove it _right the way up your-_ "

He was interrupted by his cell phone ringing in his pocket. Startled back to reality he blushed and looked around self-consciously before answering it.

"Yes?" he asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"Fitz?" Simmons asked. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he answered, sounding anything but. "Why do you ask?" He looked at the floor and wondered how he was meant to get down from his perch without further injuring his dignity.

"It's just, I was expecting you up here already," Simmons continued. "Coulson, Ward, and May will be here any minute to go back to the BUS."

"Right, right," he nodded, biting his lip and crouching down on the top of the cart until he could sit on it. "Um, Simmons?" he asked, closing his eyes in resignation and covering them with his hand.

"Mmhmm," she replied, sounding a bit distracted. Then he could hear Skye on the other side of the phone. Great. Now there'd be _two_ people who knew his humiliation.

"Could you say, um, 'Lobby' for me?" he asked, cringing at how pathetic he sounded.

"Excuse me?" Simmons asked. He could picture her wrinkled little forehead and scrunched up little nose perfectly.

"I'm..." he sighed dejectedly. "I'm in the lift," he mumbled.

"The what?" she asked.

"If you would like to get out of the elevator without selecting a floor, simply say, 'Open the doors, please'," interrupted the most annoying voice on the planet.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Simmons' said with more than a little pity, "Oh, Fitz."

"Could you just...?" he asked pathetically.

"Hold up the phone," she said with a small sigh. He could just picture that understanding smile on her face. He was never going to live this down.

Switching the phone to speaker, he held it up. "Go ahead," he instructed.

"Lobby," Jemma said in her perfect, clipped tones.

The lift immediately whirred into motion.

"Did it work?" she asked, and he could hear the wide smile in her voice.

"Yes," Fitz sighed. He slid down off of the cart and bent to pick up the EMP and put it back where it belonged.

"See you in a few, then."

"Yeah," Fitz nodded. His smile came back as he looked at his tech haul one more time. "Just _wait_ til you see what I got us."


End file.
